A Thousand Ships
by more-than-words
Summary: "I mean, I feel like on a good day I could maybe inspire the launch of a dinghy or two, but..."


Disclaimer: Sarah Kember isn't real. Elizabeth McCord is a babe. I am so sorry for this story.

Thank you to those of you who offered support and/or made suggestions for smutty boat puns on tumblr: adii1201, LittleCatt, the-imperius et al. Apologies if I've forgotten anyone. I have used some of your suggestions with gratitude; this fandom is beautifully filthy :)

Finally, I don't know how this story happened. I'm particularly unclear on how half of it ended up being about boats (and most of the rest of it is smut). I'd love to know what you think! x

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 _Sarah Kember's face could 'launch more ships than Helen of Troy', says UN Secretary General. Pictured above with Elizabeth McCord._

That was it. That was the headline. She really shouldn't read anything into it.

It was just a headline. A random, stupid headline beneath a photograph, and it wasn't even about her, not really. The way the story had been reported on the gossip website, she had just so happened to be in the picture, like being the Secretary of State was no big deal. Just part of the furniture.

If she was going to get worked up about it, _that_ was the bit she should focus on, the trivialisation of her job, like getting her role was easy compared to the stunning actress standing next to her in the picture. She absolutely should not be focusing on the unspoken – yet, she felt, clearly implied – comparison of her face to someone else's.

Stupid. It was stupid. She shouldn't be getting hung up on it. The story was on a sub-par-yet-popular gossip site and it was about the actress, not her. The actress who had just signed up as a UN envoy to front a campaign supporting refugees, and who had come to the State Department as part of a two-day summit to look at the issue. Elizabeth had met with her following one of the working groups and talked with her and genuinely liked her, and she had made interesting, thoughtful points during their discussion, and then at the end of the meeting the photographer had snapped their picture for the press pack.

And now it was on a gossip site being used to reduce her to little more than her appearance and, by association, Elizabeth with her.

Elizabeth told herself that if she was going to get angry about it, she should get angry about the inherent misogyny in the headline – and the article – or about the way the article gave the important refugee summit a mere two sentences before dedicating several long paragraphs to Sarah Kember's fashion sense. There was plenty in there for her to be legitimately bothered about. She should not be worrying about what her own face looked like.

She didn't usually worry about it, had never really had cause to. But she had to admit that looking at the photo of herself standing next to the gorgeous actress, she was suddenly very aware of her appearance, and feeling unusually insecure about it.

It weighed on her mind during the entire drive home from the State Department, even as she repeated over and over in her head, _you're the Secretary of State, get over it_. It had been a long, difficult day, and the article had been the last thing she read before she left for home, and it had stuck with her.

And Helen of Troy? Really?

There was a whole world of misogyny and male entitlement right there. Who the hell did the headline writer think they were, making comparisons to –

"Elizabeth?"

She snapped out of her increasingly indignant train of thought to find herself standing in the foyer of her house, Henry in front of her with a half-full wine glass in his hand and an expression of mildly concerned amusement on his face.

"Oh. Hey," she said.

"You OK?" There was a smile playing on his lips as he looked at her. "You were mumbling to yourself for a good minute there."

Elizabeth didn't even properly remember getting from the car to the house, too lost in her internal monologue of feminist rage and papered-over insecurities to pay much attention to her immediate surroundings. Her gaze was drawn to the glass. "I'm fine. Is that wine?"

Henry looked at his glass as if to check. "Yes."

She reached out and took it from him, knocking back a healthy mouthful of the red wine and feeling the warm burn of it all the way down her oesophagus. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Her husband folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with an expression of curious humour. "What exactly am I entitled to, by the way?"

"Huh?" Elizabeth busied herself with keeping her balance whilst kicking off her shoes and taking another swallow of wine at the same time, and wasn't paying much attention to Henry's question.

"You muttered something about damn male entitlement, so I'm just curious. What is it that I'm entitled to?"

"Oh." Henry was generally the exact opposite of all of that. When she thought of the patriarchy, her husband was not what she thought of. She closed her eyes for a moment and released a breath. "Not you. Definitely not you."

Although if she showed Henry that stupid picture on that stupid gossip website with the stupid headline by the stupid headline writer next to the stupid article, what would he think? She knew that he'd defend her to the moon and back, would happily shower her with compliments and mean every single one of them, but he was still a guy with eyes. He knew a pretty face when he saw it. Her photo buddy was gorgeous. That was the fact of it. And it was filling her with uncharacteristic self-doubt.

"Do you think Helen of Troy is pretty?"

Henry stopped still and took a moment to answer, opening his mouth several times to start a response but then stopping to reconsider. "Babe, what is this?" he eventually got out.

She just stood and looked at him, waiting for his answer.

He lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Well, I've never met her myself so it's hard to say, and she exists mostly in myth rather than reality, but if that's what you're referring to then it's a common theme in Greek mythology that, yeah, she's pretty."

"The most beautiful woman in the world," Elizabeth said.

Henry frowned. "I feel like I'm being tested on something."

"You're not." She walked past him into their office, still holding the wine glass. She drank from it as she reached her desk and turned back to lean against it, watching her husband walk towards her. Damn, he was attractive.

She bet Sarah Kember would think so too.

 _Stop it, Elizabeth. Sarah Kember is nice and clever and also married. You like her. Solidarity. Screw the patriarchy, not her._

Henry reached out and took the wine glass back from her so he could take a large sip himself, looking like he needed the fortification. "OK, in the myths, yeah. Helen of Troy is the most beautiful woman in the world."

"The face that launched a thousand ships."

"Yes. Although that line comes from Christopher Marlowe's _Doctor Faustus_ , not the Greeks."

For some reason that annoyed her, the need Henry had to place everything exactly, the way he knew so much. She usually loved his knowledge of the classics and literature, and his genuine passion for the subjects he was interested in, but at that moment she didn't want him correcting her or educating her, she just wanted him to agree with her.

Not that she was sure what she wanted him to agree _on_ , but that was beside the point.

"That's not the point!" she exclaimed.

Henry raised his eyebrows at the sudden increase in her volume and levels of annoyance. "So what is?" he asked, a little warily.

"It's that – " she started, but then cut herself off when she realised she didn't really have anywhere to go with it because she hadn't really worked out the point herself. She deflated and sighed, snatching the glass from Henry so she could drain the last of the wine before placing it heavily down on the desk. She looked down at the floor. "I'm being stupid."

A couple of seconds later she was looking down at Henry's shoes as he stepped into her personal space, and then she was looking at his face as he cupped her jaw in his hands and tilted her head up to his. He looked askance at her.

"This is going to sound ridiculous."

"No, it isn't." He sounded like he really believed that. Sweet, unsuspecting man. He'd be re-evaluating that statement momentarily.

Elizabeth shrugged. "I met with Sarah Kember earlier and we had our photo taken and now it's on the internet with a headline about how the UN Secretary General said she's more beautiful than Helen of Troy."

It was obvious that Henry wasn't yet quite getting it. "OK, and..?"

"And I'm there. In the photo. Next to her."

Realisation dawned on Henry's face. He laughed.

Annoyed, Elizabeth shook him off and walked a couple of steps away. "Well, thanks for the support."

"I'm sorry. But do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

She was aware she sounded angry and hurt when she replied: "I told you it's ridiculous. But you don't need to laugh at me, Henry."

He stopped and considered her, and sobered up a moment later. He took a step towards her. "You're really serious."

"Yes." Oh great, she could feel tears welling up behind her eyes. She turned around for a minute so that Henry wouldn't see, and bit at the inside of her cheek until the urge to cry had been tamped back down. When she turned back around, Henry was directly in front of her, his chest only inches from hers. "I know I shouldn't care. In fact I _don't_ care. I mean I don't normally care. I normally don't think about it. I have other things to think about. And I'm happy. With… you know. And it doesn't even matter. What matters is I had a meeting with an interesting, qualified woman about something important, and we made good progress on the issue, and all the press can find to say about it is that she's attractive. That's what I'm really annoyed about. But it's been a long day and I'm tired and it caught me at the right time – wrong time, really - and, damn, that woman is _gorgeous_."

Henry paused for a moment before chancing a chuckle and, when she didn't kill him, stroked his palms over her shoulders, his fingers skating over her shoulder blades and sending an involuntary shiver through her. "You think so?" he said.

"You don't?"

Wisely, he chose not to answer, instead dipping his head to kiss her sweetly. "I think my wife is gorgeous. And interesting. And qualified. And righteous." He kissed her again.

"I mean, I know I'm not, like, a supermodel or anything," Elizabeth said when he pulled back. She stepped back out of his arms, feeling the need to pace the floor in front of the desk as she rationalised things with herself. "But I think… I'm pretty sure I look OK, right?"

"Right," Henry agreed with admirable enthusiasm.

"I mean, I feel like on a good day I could maybe inspire the launch of a dinghy or two, but..." Elizabeth shrugged and looked away, hoping to shield the genuine insecurity with joking self-deprecation.

Henry scoffed, apparently feeling the need to step in before she got herself so far along the train of thought that she'd be stuck on it for the rest of the night. He sounded both adamant and genuine when he spoke. "Babe, first of all, why would you want to inspire the launch of a thousand ships when you're already the captain of the whole damn fleet? You can launch 'em yourself."

Well, that was a good point. She controlled her own life, and had amassed a considerable amount of power over the years, both personal and professional, and she hadn't done it just by sitting quiet and looking pretty and waiting for a man to hand it to her. She had worked for it. She had just started to turn that over in her head when Henry continued.

"And second of all, you're _beautiful_ , and I've told you before. I'll always show up for you. If that means launching a thousand ships to get to you then so be it. Just as long as I'm the one to get to do it, and you're waiting for me when I get there."

That one made her soften and melt, and she felt a small smile creep across her face unbidden. He was so damn resolute and sincere about it. She looked down at the ground, suddenly a little bashful in front of her husband of a quarter of a century. "Thanks," she whispered. Then, eager for a distraction, ideally in the form of her gorgeous husband, her smile started to grow and she looked back up at him cheekily. "What ships would you launch for me?"

Henry grinned and reached out to pull her to him, evidently more than happy to play along. "Oh, you name it," he said. "I'd send a warship for you."

"A navy destroyer?"

"Sure. A fire ship. Tanker. Attack vessel. I'd bring 'em all to get to you. Cruise liner. Fishing boat. Dreadnought. Cartel. Dinghy." He punctuated each with a kiss.

"I'd send my fleet for you, too." Enjoying their verbal game, Elizabeth leaned into him. "Would you land your plane in my aircraft carrier, Mr Marine?"

Henry laughed. "Oh, you're really floating my flotilla right now, babe."

She pressed her hips to his, assessed the evidence and considered it. "Hmm, really? Only feels half-mast to me."

He kissed her, brief and hard. "Give it time. I'm still coming about, captain."

"Are the kids home?" She just had to check.

"No."

"Good answer. Wanna step aboard my galleon?"

Henry slipped his hands beneath her blouse to press his palms against her back and hold her to him firmly. He dipped his head until his lips were millimetres from hers, his breath hot against the skin of her face. "Are you taking me below deck?"

"Henry, shut up and kiss me."

He obliged eagerly, sealing his mouth to hers and sucking her bottom lip between both of his before easing his tongue inside her mouth as his hands roamed the skin of her back. He stepped up into her, holding her hips to his and encouraging her to arch into him. Elizabeth slid her arms around Henry's neck, cupping her hands around the back of his head so that she could angle his face exactly where she wanted it and better control the kiss. She could feel the warmth starting to bubble low inside her as Henry released a groan at the enthusiasm in her response.

He wrapped an arm tight around her waist and walked her backwards into the living room, where the sofa would be much more comfortable than any of the furniture they had in their office; by unspoken agreement, they didn't even attempt to navigate the stairs to their bedroom.

It was only when Henry started to lower her down onto the cushions that Elizabeth pushed back to stop him, tearing her mouth from his and stretching up so she could whisper hotly into his ear, "About face, sailor."

She tugged on his arm to make him turn and reverse their positions, and then she pushed him back with a firm hand on his chest. He dropped heavily onto the sofa cushions and sat looking up at her with a glint in his eye that suggested he was happy enough to go along with whatever she wanted. That was just as well.

Because she wanted him.

Elizabeth stepped into him, her shins pressing against his. Henry tilted his head back against the sofa so that he could look up and see her face as she stood over him. A fraction of the heat dropped out of his gaze – _just_ a fraction – and was replaced by softness. "You're beautiful," he said.

Still feeling the remnants of her annoyance and insecurity over the goddamn article headline, it was on the tip of her tongue to protest, to tell him to stop, to suggest that he was only complimenting her because he knew she was feeling a little unsettled. She very nearly told him that, but her husband's gaze didn't waver from hers even once, not even as he leaned forward to take her hand in his and encourage her closer, and he sounded like he believed it so strongly that she forgot her protest and it died unspoken on her lips.

At least Henry, unlike the idiotic headline writer, knew that she was more than what she looked like. But hell, if he wanted to give her compliments then who was she to protest? Especially when he meant them so absolutely, and just wanted so desperately for her to be happy. Elizabeth let him tug her down to straddle him, her knees either side of his thighs on the sofa cushions and his hands cupping her hips to steady her. His thumbs stroked confidently over her waist, sending ripples of heat through her abdomen.

"Preparing to set sail, are we?" She shifted her balance over Henry, watching the way his eyes flicked down to her cleavage as she lifted her hands to slowly undo the top two buttons of her blouse and let her fingers linger over her collarbone, brushing over her own skin and knowing that it was turning her husband on.

He stroked his hands down over her thighs in broad strokes. "Get ready to climb the mast, are we?" he retorted.

She laughed. "Henry, that was terrible." She let herself collapse into him, resting her head on his shoulder and snuggling in close, squeezing her arms against his ribcage.

Henry wrapped his own arms around her in a bear hug and held her tightly for a long moment before he turned his head to press a firm, lingering kiss against her hair and then said, quietly, "You know you have nothing to worry about, right?"

Elizabeth let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding and felt her body start to relax against Henry's, the tension she had been carrying with her since late afternoon finally starting to abate. She still felt ridiculous about the whole thing: of all the aspects of the article to take umbrage with, her brain that day had chosen to pick her _face_ in comparison to someone else's, but she couldn't deny that Henry's words helped. It wasn't wrong, she told herself, to need a little validation from time to time. And if she was able to find that so easily in her husband's arms then, well, she considered herself pretty lucky.

And as Henry had said, she was the captain of her own damn fleet. She had it pretty good.

"Thanks," she said, hugging him tight for another couple of seconds before pulling back and bracing her forearms on the cushions either side of his head. She dipped her head until her lips were centimetres from his. "And for the record, neither do you."

She kissed him gently and felt his smile against her lips. Her own smile grew.

"Unless," she added, "you disobey captain's orders."

"Never," Henry said.

"Good. Take your shirt off."

He complied, bringing his hands between them to undo the buttons of his shirt – and if he happened to undo a couple of her own shirt buttons while he was at it, Elizabeth wasn't about to admonish him, not when his eyes had darkened so much and he looked positively hungry as he held her gaze with his. Henry shrugged out of his shirt, leaving it trapped between his body and the back of the sofa.

Elizabeth took a moment just to look at him, aware that his eyes had dropped again to her chest and that his breathing had started to quicken. She kissed him again, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and sliding one hand into his hair to scratch her nails against his scalp. He liked that; every time she did it, he was putty in her hands, especially when her other hand trailed down between them to stroke the skin of his lower abdomen, his muscles jumping under her touch. She re-assessed the situation: definitely not just half-mast anymore.

Henry was tugging at her blouse, fumbling to get the last buttons undone and then he pushed it back off her shoulders, forcing her to release him for a moment while he dragged it down her arms. The blouse dropped to the floor and Henry held her wrists behind her back as he strained forwards to kiss her, making her slide down further into his lap and bringing her pelvis into alignment with his. "Look at that," he said against her lips as he leant over her as much as his position beneath her would allow, "you're my prisoner."

"This captain will not tolerate a mutiny," she replied, aware of her heart beating fast in her chest in anticipation and goosebumps starting to rise on her skin in response to the feel of Henry's body against hers.

"Oh no?"

"No. It comes with a heavy punishment, you know."

"You going to string me up to the rigging?"

Elizabeth grinned and pulled her hands free so that she could cradle Henry's head in her arms as she ground her hips lightly against his, feeling his arousal starting to strain against her. His movements against her were beginning to become less controlled. "Hmm, not this time. But there will be a bounty to pay."

"Name your price."

She stretched forward so that her head was level was his. She traced her tongue lightly over the shell of his ear and then blew gently, making him shudder. "Shiver my timbers."

Henry let out a stuttered breath before he said, "With pleasure."

He picked up the pace then, the urgency increasing as he stroked his hands down her back and then around to cup her breasts in his palms, pinching her nipples through the lace of her bra and drawing a long moan from her. Elizabeth was unable to stop the motion of her hips against his and could feel the pressure starting to build deep within her. She ran her hands over Henry's chest, feeling the play of muscles and the warmth of his skin – and the slight tremor building just below the surface of him, like the growing churn of the sea right before a storm.

She wanted it unleashed.

Impatient, Elizabeth sealed her mouth to Henry's at the same time as moving her hands to fumble with his belt buckle, yanking slightly against the leather to get it undone and then, a little more carefully, undoing the button and zip of his trousers. "Off," she mumbled against his lips.

Things got a little bumpy for a moment as Henry secured her to him with one arm tight around her back and then raised himself from the sofa a few inches so he could use his other hand to push his trousers and boxers down his legs. Elizabeth twined her arms around him and clung on, enjoying the feel of his chest pressed tight against hers and the strength he was using to hold both of them up, right before he dropped unceremoniously back down onto the cushions, the force of it sending her sliding in his lap until her centre pressed up against his erection. They both groaned.

Henry bucked up into her. She could feel the heat of him even through her slacks and underwear and she wanted them off, gone, wanted Henry inside her. She broke their kiss and struggled to her feet so that she could quickly shuck off the rest of her clothes, and then she was back over him on the couch, straddling his thighs and holding onto the cushion either side of Henry's head as her wetness brushed over the tip of his arousal.

"Ready to… raise the main sail?" she bit out, the muscles in her thighs starting to quiver from holding herself still above him.

One of Henry's hands stroked over her thighs while the other cupped her breast in his palm; his lips were curved into a contented smile that grew into a grin at her words. "I think so," he agreed. "You'd better hold on tight, though. We might be in for some choppy waters ahead."

"Hey, I'm the captain and I want a smooth ride," retorted Elizabeth, unable to stop her own grin from forming as she started to lower herself down onto the length of him. She thought that was one of the best things about sex with Henry; not only did it feel great, it was also always so much _fun_.

Henry steadied her with his hands on her hips. "OK," he promised, "I'll try not to rock the boat too much."

"Mmm. Just the right amount."

Elizabeth started to move against him then, drawing back up onto her knees until just the tip of him was still inside her, and then lowering back down until she sat against his knees, her muscles squeezing him rhythmically. Henry's eyes slammed shut, a look of bliss taking up residence on his face, and Elizabeth found herself watching him closely, temporarily forgetting her pursuit of her own release and her request for him to, essentially, shag her silly, in order to watch the bunch of muscles in Henry's jaw as he swallowed heavily and the way he didn't try to hide the pleasure he felt, instead letting her see every bit of raw emotion on his face.

He was beautiful. It was perfect. And she had put that look on his face.

She wondered what in hell she had been worrying about. Stupid article headlines meant nothing when her husband looked like that beneath her, and especially when he opened his eyes and the look of love he gave her was enough to take her breath away.

She leaned forward to kiss him again as she picked up her pace, guided by Henry's hands against her hips and ribcage. She kept her gaze on his, hoping that he understood what he did for her.

One of his hands dropped down to where they were joined and his fingers brushed against her clit, making her lose her rhythm as sharp little shocks of pleasure shot through her with each touch. "Hey look," Henry murmured, pressing kisses to her face. "I found a deep sea pearl."

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. "I think that was the worst one yet."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah." Not that she was complaining, of course. She'd never complain about her husband making her feel good. Her head lolled forwards and she rested her forehead against his shoulder, pressing kisses to every bit of skin she could reach. "Henry."

His fingers dug tighter into the skin of her hip as he helped to lift her and then guide her back down onto him. His voice was a rumble her ear. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's guide this boat safely into harbour."

His words coincided with a particularly firm press of his fingers against her clit and it sent her over the edge, the pressure low in her abdomen filling her up and then spilling over as she gave into the pleasure, making her muscles clench tightly around Henry and sending him over too. His arms banded around her and held her tight against his chest as he let out a hoarse shout of pleasure and released inside of her.

They lay slumped on the sofa for several minutes afterwards, the sweat drying on their bodies and Elizabeth's mind quietly turning over the events of the day. She was just making plans to ask Sarah Kember to write an article for the crap gossip website about her UN campaign – she was sure they'd run the story if it meant they got to run another picture of her pretty face – when Henry spoke up.

"See," he said, a little drowsily and a little muffled as he pressed a sloppy kiss to her shoulder, "I told you. You launch your own damn fleet."

She turned her face to kiss his neck. "I do. Thank you for reminding me." She was pretty sure she had way more than a thousand ships, too. Especially if she combined her fleet with Henry's. Between them they must command an entire navy.

"You're welcome. Are your timbers fully shivered now?"

She thought about it. "Not quite..?"

"Then we'd better do something about that."

Oh, she adored playful Henry. He was one of her very favourite Henrys. "We really should. Want to retire to the captain's private quarters?"

"I do. A quick stop in the galley on the way for some rum and sea biscuits?"

"As long as by rum and sea biscuits you mean wine and crackers, sure." She disentangled herself from Henry and stood up, holding her hand out to him.

He took her hand but stayed where he was just looking at her, for so long that she started to feel a little self-conscious. Then he said, "You're so beautiful."

She smiled. She could feel the love coming off him. But there was a glint in his eye and he didn't seem like he was quite done, so she said nothing and waited.

"I'm yours, babe," Henry said.

She waited again.

"Hook, line and sinker."

She groaned. Turned and started walking towards the kitchen.

"I've got more where that came from. I can do more. We can go all night on the shipping puns. At least another two rounds, I'll bet."

That got her attention. She stopped and turned back to Henry, who had heaved himself up from the sofa and was looking at her with a dare in his eyes. "That a challenge, sailor?"

"One where we both win and I'll make sure your timbers are thoroughly shivered before the night is out." He walked over to her and took her in his arms, eyebrows raised in expectation.

Well, that wasn't something she could pass up. "Well, in that case, welcome aboard." She stretched up to whisper in his ear. "And if you're good, I'll even make you co-captain."

"Of the USS McCord?"

"If we've got a whole fleet, you're gonna need to come up with some more original names."

"I've got more of those, too. I told you. We can go all night on this. You game?"

There was really only one answer she could give but she still pretended to consider it before she gave in and put him out of his misery. "Sure, Henry. Anchors away."


End file.
